Chapter IV: The Judgment of Leo De’ Medici

The captain had a closed carriage ready, and did not do me the indignity of taking away my sword. Marianna and Rocca had gone out simultaneously, and started ahead in one of Chigi’s vehicles, hastily harnessed. A messenger was sent to San Angelo to summon Bari to the Vatican, and ask that Orosi be sent thither under due guard. My custodian, an excellent-hearted cavalier, spent most of the ride across the now dark and silent city, assuring me that there was nothing to fear, that the charges of Orosi were absurd, and that the Pope was all benignity in every case where his kinsfolk did not interfere to arouse him. I, however, knowing the plot better, foresaw trouble in clearing myself without implicating Forli, especially as the bravo would doubtless say anything to save his neck. Nevertheless, I took a certain grim satisfaction in realizing that Forli’s unsavory plot was thwarted.

“No,” I asserted to myself, almost aloud, “I do not think that I will soon be forced to become the Archbishop of Bari!”

So we went on, till the wheels rolled into the court of the Vatican. A few torches made the great pile of buildings rise darkly above us. A subaltern of the Swiss guards threw open the door. I descended with the captain. Rocca was there already, having put his horses at their speed, and at a signal from him my custodian conducted me up the long staircases, and along the half-lighted galleries, until we came to a line of yawning gentlemen-chamberlains and flunkies outside the private apartments of His Holiness; and after some delay Messere Paris di Grassis, the Master of Ceremonies, and two other green-cassocked ushers, came forward to demand our wishes.

I let Rocca do the negotiating. The worthy Paris’s protests against disturbing the Pope were presently beaten down; but before we were admitted another group had joined us,--my accuser, Bari, in civilian’s dress, and still flushed and excited, besides a squad of soldiers with the valiant Orosi pinioned in their midst. The Archbishop’s smooth, olive face darkened ominously when he glanced at me, but Fabriano clapped a kindly hand on my shoulder, and we exchanged no defiances. Then with a little rumble the doors were thrown open, and Monsignore Paris was calling:--

“You may enter, Signori.”

The scene was not unfamiliar. The high, brilliantly frescoed room was lighted by a score of lamps swinging from silver chains, a dozen prelates and court gentlemen were lounging on divans around the chamber, and conversing in polite whispers. In the centre of the room was a round table covered with white velvet, about which were three low chairs occupied by Forli and two other cardinals. On the table lay cards and a goodly pile of golden scudi. Directly facing the door, upon a high armchair, sat Leo de’ Medici.

“His Eminence of Rocca, Monsignore di Bari and the Conte di Palaestro,” announced Paris’s clear voice, “crave audience with His Holiness upon a matter admitting no delay.”

We entered in a little group and stood in respectful attention until the Pope--disturbed in the dealing of a new game of his favorite _primiera_--could recover from his slight surprise. The Maltese poodle at his knee rose, begging and barking for one of the bonbons on the stand at his lord’s elbow. The Pope stared at us, his near-sighted, glassy eyes starting prominently out of his large, florid face. His light hair was covered by a white skullcap, and from under his red stole peeped the scarlet slippers with the golden cross on the right foot. It took a minute for him to fidget his thick body in the armchair, reach with his much beringed hand a dainty to the dog, and fumble for his eyeglass. He surveyed us briefly, and at last in his usual brisk and pleasant manner began:--

“Well met, well met--Rocca, Bari, Palaestro. Good hands all of you! I am sure these noble cardinals here will be glad to have you replace them, especially as I seem to have won most of their money. And how have you spent the evening? I hear Chigi gave one of his charming suppers. I trust the ladies’ toilets were elegant.”

He paused to cast another bonbon to the dog.

“May your Holiness be graciously pleased,” began Rocca in a constrained tone. “I fear we cannot usurp their Eminences’ places at your table. A little difference has arisen between Monsignore di Bari and the Conte di Palaestro which only your Holiness can arbitrate.”

“A difference,--excellent!” the Pope’s eyes brightened. “Some matter of Latin versification, no doubt. I heard yesterday that Bari was preparing some excellent pentameters.”

“I grieve to say, your Holiness,” spoke the Archbishop, abruptly, “our ‘differences’ touch quite another business. The illustrious Conte di Palaestro has hired this bravo Orosi here to take my life, and but for my good mail shirt, I would have been dead these three hours!”

“Murder? Hired bravoes?” the Pope’s thick features paled at the words of ill-omen. “Impossible! Why, man--all Rome knows the Conte’s worthy German scruples. Impossible, I say!”

“I can convince your Holiness,” asseverated Bari. “The Pope surely knows this Orosi’s reputation. The Governor of San Angelo can be witness both to his identity and his character. He was caught red-handed in the deed, and has confessed. As a prelate of the Church, if not as your friend, I demand your Holiness’s punishment upon his hirer, the Conte di Palaestro.”

“Pest take the business!” cried the Pope, casting his cards upon the table. “Was ever a quiet evening so spoiled? Well--Gualtiero, why don’t you speak? What have you to say?”

“I say,” I rejoined brusquely, “that the Pope knows me long enough to make this monstrous charge fall of its own weight. I did not hire this bravo to murder Monsignore di Bari.”

“Bear witness, your Holiness,” cried the Archbishop, triumphantly; “he does not deny, however, knowing of a plot to take my life.”

“Come, come,” exclaimed Leo, half testily; “let us not act like hasty schoolboys. Since you are safe and sound, Bari, don’t grow vindictive. We will sift the whole business; first let us examine the assassin.”

During all this dialogue Forli and Rocca had been whispering, and now Forli came to my elbow.

“A good heart, Gualtiero!” he shot in my ear; “do not betray me. All will end well.”

“But better never begun,” I darted back. Now, however, the Pope began to interrogate the prisoner, and all our attention was concentrated upon Orosi.

To do the bravo credit he stuck to his lie with admirable dexterity. Clearly enough he understood that Forli’s gratitude for his perverted tale would far offset any anger of mine. He swore circumstantially that I had summoned him to an interview that afternoon, had represented that Bari was crossing me in the matter of a lady; and then we had arranged for the Archbishop’s removal. He named places, persons, and times with inimitable plausibility. The exalted rank of his questioner disturbed him not the least. When asked as to his experience in such matters, he looked upon Bari with capital nonchalance, and avowed that “he had helped eleven better than Monsignore into purgatory,--praised be Santo Paolo!--for had he not learned his art in the school of _il illustrissimo_ Caesare Borgia?”

When all direct attempts to shake his story had failed, the Pope turned on me.

“And now your denial, Conte?”

“As before. I swear I did not employ this cut-throat. His story is a tissue of lies.”

“He said you talked with him at your lodgings before you left for Chigi’s. If you did not, who were with you at that time, to substantiate your denial?”

“I will not deceive your Holiness, only my own servants.”

“And where were you before that?”

“At the palazzo of the Cardinale di Forli.”

“And who was there?”

I felt the flush mount to my temples. I never cursed my German blood as I cursed it then. Why did my tongue trip at a well-placed lie? I knew my reputation for blunt Northern veracity. Why dared I not trade on it?

“Madonna Marianna, of course,” I answered, sparring for time.

“Naturally; and the Forli servants, and some of your own, perhaps. Who else?”

“I do not recollect. I was not there long.”

But the words did not come boldly; and simultaneously I saw Bari’s keen face flash from me to Forli, then back with a sudden gleam of intelligence.

“I demand a better answer, your Holiness,” he thrust in. “The Conte is not making a full answer. He _does_ recollect. Command that he declare upon his honor whom he saw at that palazzo.”

“Can you answer the Archbishop?” said the Pope, with unwonted firmness. He was a shrewd judge of men when once aroused.

I looked His Holiness fairly in the eye.

“I regret to pique Monsignore’s curiosity,” I said, “but I cannot reply to his question.”

You could have counted twelve ere any in the company spoke a word. They had all pressed near to catch my disclosure. Not one could miss the point of the question and answer. Forli was looking downward sheepishly. I knew he was execrating my hesitancy to prevaricate. Then the Pope began again--ominously gentle.

“I trust you appreciate the unfortunate results of withholding anything. If you cannot swear you saw no stranger at the Cardinal’s, whom did you see? Describe as precisely as possible if you cannot identify him.”

I glanced furiously at Rocca and Forli. I was more angry at their involving me in their fell project, than fearful of its consequences.

“Your Holiness, I regret it, but my answer is final. I can say nothing as to anything that occurred at the palazzo of the Cardinal.”

Bari--an irascible man--threw down his biretta in the Pope’s presence.

“I call your Holiness to witness! To-night my life was attempted. By the confession of the assassin the Conte was his employer. The Conte’s denial is most imperfect. By plain implications from his silences it is likely others were in the plot. I know well certain high personages,”--he darted a glance upon Forli and Rocca, “have envied the favor awarded me by your Holiness, and coveted the prebends and benefices you have deigned to bestow upon me. If the Pope is not a lord merely over bravoes and bandits, I demand--”

But Forli had already whispered to a fellow-cardinal, and he to the Master of Ceremonies. Now good Messere Paris stepped forward with uplifted hand.

“May it please the Pope! The very reverend Archbishop is about, I fear, to say many harsh things, calculated--if bruited through Rome, to spread even through Christendom, to the great scandal of the Church. He is saved. _Laus Deo!_ The bravo is taken. _Laus Deo in excelsis!_ But this being the case I pray your Holiness to act delicately in opening a matter in which more may be involved than the mere avenging of Monsignore.”

“Well said,” uttered an influential cardinal, in audible whisper.

“Yet I,” asserted Bari, “have been all but murdered. I insist--”

“_Pax_”! ordered the Pope, moving uneasily on his cushions. “Was ever there a less happy case! Bari must be vindicated? Right. The Church must be spared a scandal? Right. But how do both. Have I Solon, Periander, Thales and all the other Seven Sages in my council? How could you do this, Forli? how could you?” The cardinal addressed tried hard not to seem to comprehend. “What lack of judgment? What lack of consideration for me? And now you have involved our unfortunate Gualtiero--”

The Holy Father took refuge in a new demand by the poodle to be fed, and stopped to satisfy the dog.

“At least,” urged Bari, his eyes like daggers, “there is no scandal to the Church in the case of the gallant Conte,--to all intents my murderer. Let _him_ pay out his penalty.”

But I had now measured the situation, and broke my silence.

“Hear me, your Holiness. It is true I am so unluckily situated that to refute this bravo’s story I must involve others whom I would, as an honorable friend, fain spare. I will not whine abjectly for leniency: but I will remind the Pope of the day when not the Holy Father, but the then Cardinale de’ Medici, was banished from Florence, was driven with insults from Bologna, but found refuge and true friendship at my grandfather’s castle at Palaestro.”

“I remember,” muttered the Pope, “I remember.”

“Then I entreat your Holiness, in whatever you decide to recall this service in dealing with your protector’s grandson.”

Bari would have charged in again, but Leo forbade him with a gesture. A minute of tense silence, and then the Pope’s face relaxed. I knew that he had reached a relatively merciful decision. He cleared his throat.

“A sad business, Gualtiero; a sad business, Forli. Very bunglingly managed as I think I see through it. Not that I applaud the attack on poor Bari,--Jove forbid!--but then there can be a certain finesse even in great crimes. This Orosi is not nearly as redoubtable a villain as he boasts--to that I’ll swear. Well,--what’s to be done? A pity surely to have Bari in such jeopardy and no reparation. I must mollify him. A good prebend at Orvieto fell vacant last week. You have applied for it, Forli: but you must withdraw your petition now. It shall go to Bari--eleven hundred ducats income. A fair salve for that sword thrust--eh?” The Pope’s eyes gleamed, and the Archbishop looked decidedly appeased. “I’ll not press Rocca whether _he_ knows anything of this business, though mayhap he ought to share the penalty with Forli. And now as to this bravo--a sturdy rascal, a very sturdy rascal! What a pity not in a more honest calling! And yet he were better hanged.”

“I cry your Holiness’s mercy,” began Orosi, dropping deftly on his knees, and squeezing the drops out of his eyes. “I swear by the Mother of God and all Angels that I have resolved, if spared this once, to devote all my days to the war against the Turkish infidels. Peccavi! Peccavi! The compassion of your Holiness is known to all the world.”

“Tush!” commanded the Pope, almost laughing now. “Rise up! Do you think I’ll spare you for vows like that? I was only wondering whether you would prove useful to my kinsmen in Florence.”

“Ah, yes! yes! Holiness. There is much that a man of my ability can do in Florence. I will be faithful forever. My gratitude--”

“Stand him aside,” ordered Leo; “at least he needn’t hang to-night.” And then he fixed his eyes on me.

“So you are left, Gualtiero? Let me see. Did the company at Chigi’s hear the whole story, the bravo’s accusation and all the rest?”

“The greater part, your Holiness,” said Fabriano.

“_Misericordia!_ It will be all over Rome then in the morning. If it had only first come to me privately! Surely you see that I can’t pardon you now. What an unlucky position! And you desire to make no defence? Well--how can I seem to temper justice with mercy, and yet punish you? I believe you have a castle and estates in Germany?”

I bowed assent.

“Then it will not be so bad. Naturally you wish to visit them ere very long. Why not at present? We shall miss you here, Gualtiero--miss you at cards and at the hunt, but _Deo volente_ not forever. Your Germans are a credulous folk, but I have travelled among them. They are not so vile as many of us suppose. So, then, my decision. Give ear.” His tone grew formal. “Seeing that the Conte di Palaestro has been unable to clear himself of prompting an attempt upon the Archbishop of Bari, I do declare that he has laid himself liable to the penalties of a great crime: but in the paternal mercy, never failing to the Holy See, and lest the full uncovering of the crime breed a great scandal in the Church, I do remit the major part of the punishment, and command that he depart to-morrow for his German estates, giving his word not to reënter Italy for one year, nor to return to Rome for two years.”

“Your Holiness is very indulgent,” I said humbly. The Pope thrust out his right slipper upon the footstool. I knelt and kissed the shoe, and then bowed myself out into the antechamber. The card players dispersed. A little group was gathering around Bari to congratulate him upon his new prebend.

“Lucky fellow,” Rocca was saying in my ear. “How loath the Pope was to do anything to you! With his chronic need for money he might have fined you fifty thousand scudi.”

Forli, too, had like felicitations over the merciful outcome, but I answered both coldly. “I owe you no thanks, Eminenzas. This has been your plot, but my penalty. I warned in advance against your scheme. But for that sense of honor which you so little cultivate, and which you would never have exercised in my behalf, I could have passed the debt on to you, and gone scot free.”

“We are grateful, Gualtiero, we are grateful,” Forli kept repeating. “Orosi did his work perfectly. No one is really to blame. But, _Dii Immortales!_ who could have dreamed that dolt of a Bari had wit enough to wear a chain shirt!”

* * * * *

A little later, in the gray dawn, before I left the Vatican, I stood alone for a little while with Marianna. I will not tell how she wept, accused herself and her father a thousand times for the “blunder,” or how I vowed to carry her miniature ever with me and to write from Padua and Augsburg, and again as soon as I reached my castle of Regenstein.

“I will think of you always, always!” she kept declaring.

“You will soon have other lovers, Madonna,” I said with sad truthfulness.

“Never such a one as you, Gualtiero. Never such a one as you! I will never forget you. And who knows but that I may come even into your frozen North in search of you? For remember my saying: you are Italian, never German. You belong to the South, to us forever!”

“Nevertheless,” I answered, “at present I fare toward the Northland.”

Then I told her that after all we were both young, and this was only a passing cloud across the long summer of life before us, and that after a year I could at least receive her at Palaestro. I need not repeat all that we said and did at the parting.

And so ended my last night in Rome, not for two, but for more than three, years.